A Ruling Passion

by Judith Michael

  Betsy Tarrant stared at her. "You'll get lost! Or freeze to death!"

  Valerie looked at Alex. "Can you think of anything else?"

  "It's only three-thirty; someone could still fly over. And what about search planes? They must be looking for us; we were due in Middle-burg a long time ago."

  "If Carl didn't file a flight plan they won't know where to look. They would have if the ELT was working, but they haven't come, so—"

  "ELT?" Lily asked, looking up.

  "Emergency Locator Transmitter. It's in the plane somewhere—was in the plane—the tail, I think. It sends out some kind of signal that search planes can follow. If it was working, we would have been found."

  Valerie touched Carlton's face. His skin was pasty in the firelight. "I don't think anybody's coming to find us and I'm not going to sit here and watch Carl die." She picked through the pile of clothes they had gathered and found an extra pair of ski mittens and fur-lined waterproof boots. She put on three pairs of socks and then the boots. She found her sable hat and put it on, and tied a cashmere scarf around her face, leaving only her eyes exposed. "The newest style," she said lighdy. "Today here, tomorrow in Vo^ue." She paused to steady her voice. She didn't want to leave. The small group around the leaping fire seemed like home and security. Beyond them, the forest was dark and forbidding. She took a long breath. "I'll be back with help as soon as I can. Stay together and wait for me."

  As she turned, Lily Grace said quiedy, "God go with you."

  "Thank you," Valerie said, thinking she would rather have the Forest Service.

  "Good luck!" Alex called.

  "Don't get lost!" Betsy shouted. "Don't freeze! Hurry back!" Valerie shook her head in wonder. Betsy never changed. In a way it was comforting to know there was something predictable in that forest.

  Within a few minutes, the fire and the smoldering hulk of the plane

  were indistinct glows behind her as she walked across the frozen lake, following the path made by the plane. Small clouds scudded across the fading sky; a half moon was rising above nearby hills. I'll have some light, Valerie thought.

  She walked across the lake, swinging her arms to keep warm in the icy wind that whistled across the flat expanse, and images darted through her mind, as vivid as paintings against the dark forest. Summer camp when she was little, learning to swim and play tennis and ride; Western dude ranches when she was in her teens, learning to shoot, riding in rodeos and competitions, sneaking out to meet boys after lights out. The counselors at camp had taught her how to use the sun, moon and stars for direction. I should have paid less attention to boys, she thought, and more to the moon and stars.

  On the other side of the lake she was in the forest again, out of the wind. But hidden beneath the deep snow were roots and branches and small bushes that wrapped themselves around her like tentacles and held her fast. Sometimes she found a crusted place in the snow and walked on top of it, taking a few long strides, but then the crust broke and she sank in, up to her knees or waist, trying to tread through the snow as if she were swimming.

  She was freezing, and exhausted, and her legs were so heavy she could barely lift them to take another step. Then, suddenly, she was too warm, and she stopped walking and began to take off her coat. No, what am I doin0? My God, Fve^one crazy; Fd freeze to death. She pulled the coat tightly around her and went on. She wondered what Betsy would say if she'd frozen; would she be pleased because she'd been proven right or ftirious because Valerie had let her down by dying? She started to laugh, but the sound in the silent forest had a wild ring to it and she cut it off. Walk. Don^t think. Walk north; thafs where the road was. Walk. Walk.

  She walked. She tripped and fell into banks of snow, and pushed herself out of them, groaning with the weight of her wet fur coat. And then she walked on, too tired to fight off the unbidden images that drifted in and out of her mind: the warm depths of her French-provincial bed in their warm sprawling mansion in Middleburg; the warm glossy coats of the horses she raised; the warm yielding cushions of the chintz sofa in her dressing room; the warm softness of her Finnish rug beneath her bare feet as she dressed in front of her warm fireplace; the warm ballrooms where she danced, whirling past her friends in silk and lace.

  / should be on the road by now. It couldn^t be this far. Unless I missed it.

  She was famished; then, oddly, not hungry at all; then hungry again. She ate snow by the handful and it made her think of meringue on a baked alaska; she heard a bird and thought about roast pheasant; a scattering of pinecones reminded her of truffles, shiitake mushrooms, mounds of caviar, foie gras on toast... Stop it. Just walk. One foot, then the other. Walk.

  Daylight was gone; the forest was dark. She walked with her hands held in front of her, navigating from tree to tree. Her feet were numb, her hands were numb, ice coated the inside of her cashmere scarf where her breath had frozen. She leaned against a tree. / have to rest; just for a minute; then ril£fo on. She slid down the trunk, asleep. When she fell over in the snow, she woke with a jerk. No! Get up! Stand up!

  But it was so pleasant to stay there, curled up in the warm embrace of the snow. Just for a few minutes. I need it, I need to rest; then Flljind the road... She started up wildly. "The road!" Her voice was high and frail in the silent forest. "I've got to find the road... can't go to sleep. I'll die if I go to sleep. Carl will die. I can't sleep."

  She forced herself to stand up, groaning aloud. Her eyes were still closed. "I can't do it," she said aloud. "I can't go any farther. I'll never find the road. It's too far. I'm so tired. I can't do it."

  God^o with you.

  Good luck.

  Please come back.

  Don^t£fet lost!

  Too late. Sorry, Val, sorry...

  She heard their voices rising about her as clearly as if they stood beside her in the dark forest. And suddenly a swift rush of energy swept through her as it had in the plane when she knew she was alive. They all need me. They're all depending on me. No one had ever depended on her: it was a new and powerful feeling. They need me. The energy seeped away, but the knowledge was there: they were depending on her; they were waiting for her. They had no one else. And she walked.

  The moon rose higher in the sky; soon it shone into the forest, turning the snow silver, as if it were lit from within. Valerie walked, her breath coming in harsh gasps, her muscles heavy and aching, her eyes burning as she strained to see in the shimmering glow that made the black pine trees seem to dance and shrink and swell until sometimes she was not sure whether she was going forward or back. The walking was harder now, and it took her a while to realize she was going uphill. The road was near a hill. The image flashed in her mind:

  the road had been cut between two small hills. Fm almost there. She raised one foot and put it down, then pulled up the other foot and put it down, treading through the snow, fighting to move forward up the rise, against the backward pull of her weight.

  She thought of a night she and Carlton had gone square dancing with friends. Four couples held hands in a circle, pulling each other as they danced to the left and the right. She heard the country violin that rose to the rafters, sending their small circle spinning faster and faster, this way and that. She sang the tune the violin had played, her voice threadlike in the cold air, and she felt her feet grow light, skipping and tapping against the wooden floor as her skirt flew out. It was warm; the lights shone on the brightly dressed couples, the men in jeans and plaid shirts, the women in gingham and ruffles. "What a wonderful dance!" Valerie cried, her hands outstretched to hold the hands of her friends.

  Her coat hung open; her body cringed against the cold. "Where am I? Where am I? Dear God, what's happening to me?" She began to cry. "Coat," she told herself "Close my coat." She pulled it around her. "Now walk. Just walk."

  She took a step, then another, and suddenly there was nothing beneath her. Her foot came down into space, her body followed it, and then she was rolling, tumbling, sliding down the other side of the rise. H
er face was in the snow, her eyes and mouth were full of it, her coat had flown open and branches clawed at her, snatching the cashmere scarf from her face. But at the bottom of the rise was the road.

  She landed on its hard, snowpacked surface and huddled there, a small, wet mound beneath a soaked, bedraggled sable coat. Very slowly she stood up, brushing snow from her face and body. The road. The road. The road. She swayed in the center of it. She'd done it; she was there.

  But the road was empty and she had to keep walking, not caring this time which direction she went. It was easier now, with no deep snow, but her feet still felt too heavy to lift and she lurched with each step. She walked until the sky was turning gray, and the moon disappeared. And that was when a young man named Harvey Gaines, who had driven all night to reach the town where he would begin a new job with the Forest Service, found her staggering along the road, her lips so stiff she could not speak.

  "Don't talk," he said, and bundled her into his jeep, hurtling down the road to a farmhouse where lights were burning. The couple who

  came to the door took one look at Valerie and brought her to the fire. "Don't talk," they said. "Thaw yourself out."

  "Four others," Valerie said; it was barely a whisper. "A lake, south of the road where you found me. We crashed. There's a fire..."

  "Got it," Harvey Gaines said briskly and went to the telephone while Valerie sat wrapped in blankets, drinking hot chocolate and letting the heat seep into her until she began, slowly, to feel warm. But she still felt nothing in her feet, and when the police arranged for a helicopter to fly her to the hospital in Glens Falls she could not walk.

  Later that morning the Tarrants and Lily Grace were brought out by helicopter and flown to the hospital where Valerie was waiting for them.

  And the body of Carlton was there, too. He had died three hours afi:er she set off through the forest.

  The State Police came. Valerie saw them in the hospital sunroom, where she sat on a wicker loveseat beside a wall of windows, soaking up the sunlight. Her feet, painfiil and tingling now, were resting on a hassock beneath a light blanket. Her hands were bandaged, the soreness in her muscles was like a huge throbbing ache on top of the bruises from the crash, and she could barely move. She told the police the story of their flight, from the time Carlton rushed them out of their vacation house for the trip to Virginia to the time she left them to get help. "He said it wasn't an accident," she said. "We were only there four days and the plane was fine on the way up. He said—"

  "Why was he in such a hurr)^ to leave?" they asked.

  "I don't know. Business, I suppose. He was an investment counselor. He said—it was ver)^ strange—he said it was done on purpose. Both ftiel tanks having water, he meant; he said it never happened before. And then he said something about a woman,"

  "What?"

  "He said, 'I should have thought she might.'"

  "Might what?"

  "I don't know."

  "Probably meant his plane. People call airplanes 'she.' Like boats."

  "I suppose so," Valerie said slowly.

  Her mother arrived the next morning. They sat together, holding hands. "I never imagined I could lose you," Rosemary Ashbrook said. "Your poor feet... what will happen to them?"

  "We don't know yet." Valerie felt the flash of fear that came every

  time she thought about frostbite. She was trying to believe that Carlton was gone, and then she had to face the truth of what might happen to her feet. I won't be an invalid, she thought. I'd rather die.

  "Poor Carl," Rosemary said. "I was so fond of him. And I relied on him; what will we do now? I don't know anything about my money; he did it all."

  "Dan will do it for a while, until we find someone else. Carl took care of mine too, you know. I feel so stupid; I don't know a thing."

  "Well, I'll let you take care of it. I just can't think about money; I never could. Poor Valerie, what a terrible time for you. And the police were here! What did they want to know?"

  "A lot that I couldn't answer." Valerie closed her eyes briefly, trying to understand what it meant that Carl was gone. She felt helpless. So much unfinished, so much dangling ... "I really didn't know much about Carl. But why should I? Three years married and about to be divorced."

  'Valerie!"

  "Well, we were trying to work things out—that's why we came up here. Carl thought a few days away from everything would make us romantic and forgetful. I don't think he really thought so, though; he was so worried about something at home he couldn't have put anything together, much less a marriage. And we'd never had the kind of passion you'd need to bring love back. And he had someone else, you know."

  "He couldn't have! He adored you!"

  "No, he didn't. I'm not sure what Carl felt about me. Or about anything. We were friends—we were always friends more than lovers —but lately we were hardly talking. He was so involved in something, and of course someone else..."

  The next morning, very early, Lily Grace came to Valerie's room. "If you need comfort, I'd like to help you."

  Valerie gave a small smile. "You can pray I don't lose my feet or toes from frostbite; I could use some intervention there. But I want to think about Carl by myself. I have a lot of sorting out to do. I hope you understand that."

  "Of course." Lily looked at her thoughtfiilly. "I've never been married. But I think the death of a spouse would be like losing a part of yourself, even if your marriage was filled with doubts and silence."

  Valerie returned her look. "How old are you, Lily?"

  "Twenty-one. Twenty-two next week."

  "And you saw that Carl and I had doubts and silence."

  "It seemed clear to me." She smiled with a radiance that embraced Valerie. "I understand a great deal; it is a divine gift. You have a gift, too. I saw it in the forest: the way you knew what had to be done, and did it, at great risk to yourself. You have a strong sense of purpose and direction and you gave us our lives. I don't know how to thank you, but I'll pray for you. I'll pray that you do your sorting out and give yourself as much life as you gave us, and also that you don't have serious frostbite."

  She kissed Valerie on both cheeks and left the room. And that was the last anyone saw of her. Sometime during the night she walked out of the hospital, alone. No one knew where she went. I'd like to see her again, Valerie thought, even though she knew Lily had been wrong about one thing: never in her life had Valerie Sterling had a strong sense of purpose or direction; for thirty-three years she had simply drifted wherever pleasure took her.

  But I helped everyone after the crash; I got them out of the forest. That was a new Valerie. But I don't know what I should do next. Or what I want to do.

  The next morning Valerie and the others were flown to Lenox Hill Hospital in New York. Two days later, Valerie's doctor allowed a young reporter, who had followed her from Glens Falls, to interview her. He brought a photographer. "How did you feel.>" the reporter asked. "Did you worry about wild animals .> How did you know which direction to go? Were you ever lost? Have you had survival training? Did you pray a lot? What did you think about?"

  "Putting one foot in front of the other," said Valerie.

  "She thought about saving the people she'd left behind," her mother said firmly. "That was what kept her going: knowing they'd die without her. She was freezing and exhausted and she'd just about collapsed when that young man found her, but she wouldn't let herself give up. She's a genuine heroine."

  Those words, on the front page of the Glens Falls Times with Valerie's picture, were seen by editors in New York and Long Island, who sent their own reporters and photographers. This time Valerie gave her own answers. She thought the reporters foolish for romanticizing that awftil night, but they were so serious she patiendy repeated her story, answering all their questions except those about Carlton.

  Television reporters and cameramen arrived, crowding into the hospital sunroom. All three networks, and CNN and the Enderby Broadcasting Network, because Valerie not onl
y provided the kind of human-interest story they always looked for, she also was sensational

  on television. Her beauty was captivating, even with the scratches and bruises that were just beginning to heal; her voice was low, warm and polished, and her vivid face showed every emotion as she described again and again the whole experience, from the crash landing on the lake to her rescue by Harvey Gaines.

  And with the Enderby Broadcasting Network came Sybille En-derby. "You're such a celebrity!" she said to Valerie, holding her hand as she bent down to kiss her cheek. "We never thought you'd be a star on my television network, did we.>" She brought a chair close to Valerie. Her black hair was intricately braided into a chignon, and her pale-blue eyes looked like mother-of-pearl against her dark olive complexion. She wore cashmere trimmed with fur. "Tell me about Carl."

  Valerie shook her head. "I can't talk about him."

  "I just can't believe it. I was with him, with both of you, just a few days ago at Lake Placid. I was so glad Lily wanted to stay on when I had to get home; I thought you'd enjoy each other. Carl thought she was so unusual. And now he's gone. Could he talk after you crashed? What did he say?"

  Valerie sighed. Sybille never could let go of anything. As far back as college, she never swerved from a goal she had set herself. "I won't talk about Carl," she said firmly. "Maybe someday, but not now."

  'Well... but you will call me, won't you, if you want to talk? After all, I knew Carl. Not well, but he was a friend."

  "I know. Have you talked to Lily Grace? She disappeared from the hospital in Glens Falls; is she all right?"

  "She's fine. She's back home and singing your praises. You were a bigger hit with her than I ever was, and I was the one who gave her a job."

  Valerie's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't trying to be a hit. I was trying to survive."